Tabula Rasa
by multiverse-tourist
Summary: Four months ago, John Smith woke up on a cold and windy beach with no recollection of who he was or how he had gotten there. He just knew that sometimes he felt like he didn't quite fit in.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N:_ _This fic is taking place in an alternate universe. The main theme is that of **amnesia/memory loss** , and I would ask readers to take the character information listed in the details with a grain of salt. (Sorry for not elaborating any further info on this - it's for the simple reason of not wanting to give too much away about the story ;))_

 _I hope you can put up with this vague information and will still be able to enjoy the (most likely rather confusing) ride for what it is._

* * *

 **Prologue**

 _The sound of waves crashing against a shore._

 _That's the first thing he becomes aware of._

 _Which is quickly followed by the unpleasant sensation of cold, soaked fabric clinging to his skin, and of tiny sand grains rubbing against his cheek and ear._

 _It takes what feels like the lingering remains of a wave rolling out against his body, further drenching his clothes, to finally make him crack his eyes open and take his surroundings in._

 _The sea. Or_ a _sea.  
The surface of the water is restless as it surges towards him in small waves, tossed around by the wind that is biting against his wet skin._

 _A horizon melting into low hanging, grey clouds.  
Daytime, but still rather dark._

 _He doesn't know how long he's lying there, with the side of his face digging into the wet sand and his body gently rocked by shallow water as the occasional waves roll out against it, just staring numbly ahead at the endless looking sea. It might be just a few seconds, or it might be several minutes; he can't quite tell._

 _His mind feels hazy, thought coming only slowly to him. Which feels off, somehow; bringing up the odd metaphorical image of syrup trickling slowly and awkwardly down a path that was used to smooth, watery flow._

 _As he slowly comes to more fully, he grows increasingly aware of a strange pressure in his head and an odd static ringing to what he might link to his hearing, only that the issue doesn't seem related to his actual ears. The sensation reminds him of being exposed to some kind of 'vacuum', for lack of a better word – as if he'd been used to a constant background noise that has suddenly been switched off, making him painfully aware of an oppressive silence surrounding him that feels nearly tangible.  
Yet it can't be actual sensory deprivation, as the waves hitting the shore in front of him and a sea gull crying its exertion into the wind above him make for quite the noisy surrounding._

 _He doesn't know what to make of it._

" _You all right, mate?"_

 _Taken by surprise at the unexpected voice behind him, he startles, pulled out of the strange, trance-like state. He pulls up his arms that have been stretched out to his sides after a moment and cautiously pushes his body up on them, clumps of wet sand falling off pinstriped jacket sleeves with the motion, then turns around to face the owner of the voice._

 _It's a middle-aged man; an angler, by the look of him, wearing waders and holding fishing gear in his hands. The man is looking him over with a mildly concerned expression._

 _He needs a few seconds to sort through the haze in his mind, his brain feeling so clogged that it seems like it first has to figure out the right language to work with, before he finally manages to rasp out a faint, "What?"_

" _Saw you lying there and thought I should make sure you're fine? Sure am relieved you're still breathing, mate, as I hadn't been looking forward to giving you mouth-to-mouth!" the stranger replies jokingly, his relief obvious. "Had a few too many last night, eh?"_

" _Did I?" he wonders aloud, still leaning on an arm and a hand digging into the sand, and tries to think back._

 _That's when realisation slowly begins to sink in, just as the concerned expression returns on the stranger's face when he continues staring at the man with a blank look for a few moments too long._

 _He can't remember._

* * *

 _A/N:_ _Yes, I know I'm being horribly impatient as I have another unfinished story waiting to be updated. And no, this one isn't finished (far from it) as I'm posting it, either, meaning updating will likely be very sporadic here, too._  
 _But damn it – my muse is not leaving me alone with this plotbunny and itching to get it out of my mind and out into the world, especially after recently talking about it again; so far as to block the creative juice for my other projects when I actually do feel motivated to write._  
 _So here I am, once again giving in. Welp._


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm sorry, Mister Smith, but there still haven't been any news."

He thought he had gotten used to hearing this sentence by now. Almost expected it, really.

And yet he still found his jaw working as he swallowed down the unbidden emotions the uttered words had once again brought up to the surface.

"But we are keeping an eye on it, and I assure you we will contact you as soon as there is any update on your file, so you won't have to go through all the trouble of making your way up here just to return disappointed."

It was the pitying look in the Detective Sergeant's eyes that made his jaw work again as he clenched his teeth, briefly making his dimples show, before he gave a sniff and plastered on an easy smile that didn't quite reach his own eyes as he rose from his seat.

"Right. Well, thank you for your time anyway, Detective Miller," he replied with more enthusiasm than he felt, shaking the woman's hand over her desk. "Not a complete disappointment if I get to enjoy the lovely seaside view in a calm getaway, though, is it?"

"'Course, there's always that," DS Miller agreed with a smile that looked at least a little less pitying.

His own smile remained on John's face even after he said his goodbyes and turned his back on those pitying eyes, giving one of the faces that he recognised by now across the spacious room a small wave in passing as he made to leave the police station, all the while trying not to appear as upset as he felt.

It had been _months_ by now.

Four months and two days, to be exact, since John Smith woke up on a cold and windy beach on the Dorset coast with no recollection of who he was or how he had gotten there. Even his name was just a placeholder – simply the first one that had come to mind when he'd been asked what he'd like to be called. (And it was wryly appropriate, he had to admit.)

He felt his mood spiralling further downwards as his thoughts drifted back to the time after he woke up as a stranger to himself.

The angler from the beach had been concerned and kind enough to offer him a ride, and when John had been unable to give a destination, they had eventually agreed on the local police station as being the most sensible choice after John had initially shot down the man's advice to see a doctor.

What had been first assumed to be hopefully just a temporary blackout of sorts and minor inconvenience, soon turned into a much more complicated case for the friendly Detective Sergeant who had ended up assigned to it after being the one to greet them at the entrance of the station, when still not a single personal memory would return to John within the following day. Nor had any relatives or friends made inquiries into local hospitals or other nearby police stations, and none of the hotels and B&Bs of the surrounding towns had been aware of any missing guests that matched his description, either.

What had followed was a range of psychological examinations, as well as medical ones of his head which failed to find any trauma to it, interviews with various authorities, and conflicting emotions he didn't really like thinking too much on.

With no further results.

In the end he had _really_ lucked out thanks to sheer coincidence; otherwise his current situation would likely look much bleaker.

During a conversation with one of the doctors doing the examinations of his head, they'd found out that John was in possession of rather advanced linguistic knowledge, when he'd finished one of the doctor's explanations for her, pointing out that the Latin and Greek in the medical terms she'd used kind of gave that away and that it was simply logical conclusion, really. Intrigued, the doctor had suggested to check if he might know any other languages, as any knowledge about his lost background could be of help, and when he'd been offered to use the internet on her computer, both of them were amazed to realise that he had no trouble reading the Cyrillic alphabet, Arabic abjad or logographic characters from Asian languages, and had even been able to easily speak sentences in the respective languages when prompted.

It might not have helped the police with his missing person's report so far, but it sure had been a small blessing in regards to John's current everyday life – since, as luck would have it, the doctor had a friend running a language school in London who was looking for a replacement for two teachers who were about to retire, and had given in to the impulse of giving them a call and arranging an introduction.

That was how, soon after, John found himself with a job teaching French and Russian at the Morris Language School in London, after an extensive interview with its owner Lloyd Morris. Morris, an elderly, well-travelled man, had been intrigued by his story and so thoroughly impressed with his linguistic abilities, that he'd wanted to hire him right away despite his unique situation and lack of educational certification, going so far as to offer John accommodation at the school's student residence, in exchange for his income cut in half for the time being to make up for the loan in accommodation and food provided in the school's cafeteria.

While John's income would still not be comparable to that of his certified colleagues even if it wasn't cut, it was enough to have slowly built a wardrobe for himself over the months and might even allow tentative plans for looking for his own place to live in the near future.

Being offered a position at the school had definitely been a stroke of luck and he was forever going to be grateful for the opportunity, considering that he might've just as well ended up living penniless in some kind of homeless shelter.  
Plus it gave him something to focus his mind on, and he found that he quite enjoyed teaching. (He often wondered if he might've also been doing that _before_.)

At this point, one might even think John to be quite the productive member in society, all things considering – were it not for his own cluelessness as to who he was.  
Or the general feeling of not quite belonging that he sometimes felt.

He wasn't sure if it was due to his situation of not knowing his own past, but sometimes he couldn't help noticing little things about himself and the way his mind worked that seemed… _different_ from other people. (And he didn't just mean speaking an unusual amount of languages, which in itself already made him stand a bit out.)  
It was the way he'd find people staring at him when he joined in on conversations during very specific discussions, like that one time he'd watched a scientific documentation with some of the students in the common room and ended up explaining the jargon and one of the mentioned topics in detail, to several surprised faces. (To be honest, he had kind of surprised himself with that. The facts had sort of just blurted out of his mouth without him really realising.)  
Or how he slept much less than seemed to be common, often finding himself to be the first and only one up at the student's residence during the week days – well, apart from the receptionists.

Little things that just made him feel out of place at times. (But then again, he sort of _was_ out of place, wasn't he?)

So here he was, four months later.

And there was _still_ no one reacting on his own missing person's report.  
(Well, other than some recent insincere attention seekers who'd read that bloody news article about him – he was starting to regret ever agreeing to the blasted thing, as it turned out to only pile more annoyances to deal with on his plate instead of being of any real help. Fat lot of good that had done.)

He couldn't help but wonder what that said about his previous life and the man he used to be, when not a single person seemed to be actively looking for him.

Could he have been that horrible a person? That no one would miss him nor mind him being gone?

Once more he came to ask himself if perhaps he should simply let go of looking for his past life and just focus on who he was now. To try and fill the glaring hole in his mind with new memories and experiences, and just be the person he felt comfortable being at this moment.

 _'If only it were that easy,'_ John scoffed mentally as he pushed the glass door open to leave the circular building the police station was located in.

Maybe he should just start by stopping to come by here.

Detective Miller was right, of course they'd inform him if there were any news.  
It was just him being sentimentally hopeful that made him take the three hour train ride to this quaint, small town on some of the weekends to personally check in with the local police department (and to try to find any more clues around his mysterious appearance here himself), really – and what good had it done him so far?  
Every time he just left the place feeling dejected and even more lost than before he'd arrived.

Walking down a concrete staircase, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, he decided to go for one last walk along the beach.  
Since he was already here, he might as well go and really enjoy the seaside view, he told himself.

* * *

Monday found John back in London.

He'd spent a good part of the first half of the day filling his lessons with comments and what he thought to be interesting facts about the respective countries' culture on top of teaching the languages, keen on keeping his mind busy and distracting himself from any potential brooding which typically followed another fruitless weekend at the Dorset coast. (He tried not to question the wealth of his general knowledge too much, with his memories seeming to be perfectly fine in that aspect – while anything personal was just one big void. It was rather peculiar, and kind of hinted at the possibility of his amnesia having psychological origins… He wasn't sure how he felt about that idea.)

His off the track rambling had been brought to an end, though, when one of his students corrected him on a rather well known historical fact, dumbfounding John when the other students had agreed with their peer. He'd been pretty sure he had gotten it right, as he'd been correct with everything else so far.  
He'd put it off to being a bit too scatterbrained (or his general memory maybe not being perfectly fine, after all) and decided to just check on that again by himself later.

With his courses finishing early in the afternoon on Mondays, John made plans to spend the rest of the day with flat hunting, next to planning future lessons, and made his way to a quiet little café he'd come to like frequenting, his second-hand laptop resting in a messenger bag against his side. While he didn't mind company as such, he was growing a little tired of being constantly surrounded by people who were mostly over a decade younger than him, and having to share most of the living area with several students at once. (He was growing especially tried of curious - if probably well-meaning - students who tried triggering his memory by constantly asking him personal questions he had no answers to. He was _really_ starting to regret that news article.)

While the arrangement had been fine for the first few weeks (beggars couldn't be choosers, after all), he found himself increasingly longing for some more privacy, especially when he'd find his mood shifting towards the more gloomy side.

So he tried finding his own place to live at, or at least a shared living situation in a much smaller scale – which was easier said then done for a person lacking concrete identification and a comparably modest income in a city like London.

Still, couldn't hurt to try.

And so John was nursing his second cup of tea at the café a little later, scrolling through offers on the internet after having already sent out three inquiries via mail, when another particular one caught his eye. At first he thought he had misread the rental charge, mixing up the line it was stated on with the advert above it, but when he clicked on it he realised it was indeed correct.

Instantly intrigued, John read through it carefully; a single person was looking for a subtenant to a spare room in their three room flat located in the nearby Chiswick area, with a monthly rent that was well within his budget and frankly speaking rather low considering the location, ticking all the mental boxes he had been looking for. He had hopes that as a subtenant people would be more inclined to turn a blind eye to his lack of identification papers as long as he could proof he had a stable income.

It sounded nearly _too_ good, and John was almost certain an offer like that would already be taken up, as it had been posted a few hours ago, but he still hastily typed an inquiry anyway.  
Sending it away, he took a long drink from his tea, mentally crossing his fingers, before finishing his scrolling of the remaining adverts. When no other offer caught his eye, he finally decided to work on his course lessons.

Around twenty minutes into it, he got distracted by an alert to a new mail. Curiously opening his inbox, he felt a spike of excitement when he saw the subject line referring to the Chiswick flat, quickly clicking on the message.

" _Hi John!_

 _You're actually the first person I got around to respond to since I only found time to check my messages just now, so no worries there! Give me a quick call under this number, so we can talk this out a bit?"_

John blinked in surprise, hardly able to believe bis luck. But then his eyes fell on the phone number the message ended on, and he felt his excitement curbed again a little as he typed a reply.

" _Sorry, don't have a phone. Know it's a bit unheard of and that I should be getting one, but so far I just didn't get around to it. Is that a problem? I could ask to borrow one? Might just take me a mo'"_

He send it off right away, with the hope that he didn't sound _too_ desperate coming up only once it was already sent into the digital ether. Still, if he was the first candidate, then he didn't want to waste time that could potentially lead to someone else getting their chance.  
He was looking around the café, sizing up the few other patrons and which of them looked the most likely to borrow him their phone as he couldn't spot the café's employee right then, when another alert drew his attention back to the laptop.

John opened the message.

" _Bugger. Do you have Skype on your computer? (You know, I think that might actually beat a phone call for a first impression!) I'm using the same_ _e_ _mail address on there."_

He was pretty sure he'd seen that name before among the pre-installed software, and sure enough, a quick search revealed that he did, indeed, have Skype on his laptop.  
Grumbling under his breath about why everything needed a separate registration, John finally managed set up an account and look for his potential future flat-mate. Adding them to his contacts, he typed a quick message.

" _Hi, this is John who asked about the flat."_

A few moments after he had sent the message, he was surprised to find his laptop playing a ringing tune and popping up a window that informed him about an incoming video call. Clicking on the accept button, he watched the window turn black with a new tiny window displaying himself at the bottom corner, before the connection was finally established and revealed a view on his contact slash potential flat-mate.

John froze briefly as he took in the sight on his screen, feeling like something was tickling the back of his mind, similar to the sensation of a déjà vu.

It was a woman; around her mid-twenties, blonde, shoulder-length hair framing a triangular face in soft waves, a smile spreading over full lips as she gave a little wave into the camera.

"Hiya! I'm Rose."

* * *

 _A/N: Yes. Yes, I did allow myself a small crossover cameo with the beach location there. Shhhht… ;D_

 _And yes, I'm aware that the whole matter of residency and work without valid identification is quite a lot more complicated IRL and most likely wouldn't be as easily handled as mentioned here, especially in regards to education – but, for the sake of story telling, I'd like to make use of creative licence and just pretend the UK and its bureaucracy in this fic aren't quite as restrictive in those aspects :P_  
 _I do hope no one minds too much._


	3. Chapter 3

After staring at the woman - now identified as Rose - for a moment longer, John felt his eyebrows knit into a slight frown.

"Sorry, but have we met before...?"

He wasn't sure if he'd identify the brief sensation he'd felt as straight out familiarity, but that was definitely the first time he had felt any kind of inexplicable reaction to a seeing a new face, leaving him a little surprised and confused (and a tiny bit excited, but he didn't really want to acknowledge the latter as it suggested he was getting his hopes up).

The smile faded from Rose's face, replaced by her own look of surprise. "No? 'Least not that I'm aware of."

Shaking the peculiar feeling off with another blink, John set back in his chair, trying to ignore the hint of disappointment her reply had brought forth. "Right. Sorry, wasn't quite sure myself, really..."

"No problem. So, you're interested in the room?" the blonde asked, coming straight to the point.

"Oh yes!" John was quick to agree, followed by a wince at his overly enthusiastic response. "That is to mean, yeah, I'd like to check it out, given the chance," he added more calmly, a hand coming to rub the back of his neck in slight embarrassment. Probably better not to go like a bull at a gate during first impressions.

He saw Rose bite back a new smile at his reaction.

"Sure. When would you be free in the next few days?"

"Usually in the late afternoons and evenings on weekdays."

He didn't really like the feeling of being restricted by a schedule and unable to make spontaneous decisions, but there couldn't be much done about the situation for the time being as long as he wanted to keep that stable income that he was depending rather heavily on – at least while he was still settling into his position at the school.

When he saw Rose pull a bit of a face at his given time frame, John immediately felt his mind coming up with ways to reschedule his lessons, anyway, yet before he had the chance to offer, Rose checked a watch on her wrist and spoke again.

"How about today? If you're up for it, I could make time for you in about an hour," she offered. "Might just have a friend pop in, if you don't mind that."

"Today sounds perfect!" he agreed, quick to grab on to the unexpected stroke of luck. "And that's absolutely fine."

"Great!" Rose replied, before lowering her eyes as she began to type something. "Here's the address and some directions. It's not too far from the tube station, so it should be easy to find."

As she finished talking, the directions appeared on the messaging window, and John made sure to jot them down on a paper napkin.

"Brilliant. I'll see you later then?"

"Yeah! Oh, almost forgot," she threw in, "Since you don't have a phone to give me a ring, use the doorbell labelled 'Tyler'."

"Got it."

"All right, later then!"

The call window closed with that, her image disappearing from the screen, and John stared at it for several seconds, hardly believing his luck.

Looked like he might be about to find a place to call his own much sooner than expected.

* * *

Almost exactly an hour after their video call, found John walking down a quiet street lined with row houses and cars on both sites. He knew he was probably just imagining things, but for some reason the scene felt familiar, and this time he definitely _could_ identify the feeling as familiarity. Which likely didn't have to mean anything, as most residential neighbourhoods in the city looked quite identical, really, but still… Something about the view, with the prospect of potentially calling it home soon in his mind, seemed to strike a chord with him.

John tried not to interpret too much into the feeling as he continued walking, taking the view in. The neighbourhood looked quite calm considering they weren't all that far away from the busy Chiswick High Road, and he couldn't help wondering what the catch might be in regards to the advertised rental charge – or in what condition the room might be.  
Reaching the number he had jotted down on the paper napkin, he came to a stop in front of a well maintained looking building with sandy coloured bricks and the locally typical white frames around the windows and door.

The exterior sure looked inviting enough so far.

Opening the tiny iron gate between a low wall that separated a short, narrow walkway from the pavement, he walked up to the front door painted in a greyish blue and pressed the top doorbell labelled with the name _Tyler_. A moment after he could hear the faint sound of the bell ringing through the door, a buzzing noise indicated that he was being let in.  
Pushing the door open, John was presented with a narrow hallway, with another door a little further back taking up one half of it on the right, and a staircase leading up taking up the other half. He could hear another door being opened upstairs as he climbed the first step, making him feel a tiny spark of excitement as he continued his way up.

So far, things were looking good – hopefully they would stay that way.

When he reached the top of the stairs, he was greeted by the sight of Rose standing in a doorway, a welcoming smile on her lips, which he immediately felt himself returning.

"Hi! Found your way all right then?"

"Yup," John agreed, popping the 'p'. "Thanks for the directions."

"Don't mention it. Come on in," she offered with a tilt of her head, making space for him to enter the flat.

Passing her, John noted that he was a good head taller than the blonde and watched her close the door behind them. He realised he was watching her in expectation of something as she turned to face him, likely brought up by the odd sensation from when he'd first seen her during their video call and the strange feeling of familiarity he'd had walking down the street just now – and instantly berated himself for feeling fleeting disappointment again when no further unusual reactions came up at meeting Rose in person, with no further sense of déjà vu whatsoever.

He was a right idiot sometimes.  
Shouldn't expect to miraculously find a link to his lost past when he was just here to check out the place.

He must've been staring, because Rose was raising her brows at him.

"Everything okay?"

Shaking himself mentally, he put on a smile. "Yeah, sorry, just lost in thought. So I'm the lucky first candidate then?" he checked with a bit more enthusiasm, trying to focus on the situation.

Returning his smile, she replied, "That you are. Wanna see the room first, before we tackle anything else?"

"Sure, lead the way!"

He followed her down a long hallway, taking in the light, patterned wallpaper and a few paintings on the walls, giving it a friendly atmosphere, but lacking any real personal touch as there were no photos to be found, which most people seemed to like hanging up.  
Rose led them to the end of a hallway, passing three other doors on their way, and finally opened the last one on their right.

"After you," she smiled with an inviting gesture.

The room was of a modest size due to a section of it being separated to what he could only assume to be an en-suite bathroom, with a built-in wardrobe taking up the remaining part of the wall, and the ceiling sloping on one side. Two tall windows in the slope gave the room the illusion of being a bit more open, though. The walls were painted in a soft grey, and the only other furniture was a double bed with a rather feminine looking frame that had delicate curling at the head end, as well as a plain white desk. There'd be just enough space to put up an additional dresser or bookshelf.

It was barely bigger than his bedroom at the student residence, but it looked to be in very good condition and would be more than enough for him to sleep and work in.

"A friend of mine stayed in here for a while," Rose told him as she came to stand next to him in the room. "She moved in with her boyfriend recently, so the room is basically unused now. Left the bed and desk behind, since she said she didn't need them, but you'd be free to replace those, of course."

"Oh, no, that's actually quite convenient. Less stuff for me to get," he smiled in response.

"Right, well, as you can see it has its own bathroom, so there'd be no incentive for early fights in the morning," the blonde grinned jokingly.

"Don't think that would've been a problem anyway, as I'm quite the early riser – but a private bathroom is definitely a big plus! Mind if I go and have a look?"

"Knock yourself out."

Leaving Rose standing behind him, he made his way to the separated section and opened the door before poking his head in.  
The en-suite also had a window and was decorated in large, rectangular tiles in a warm, but darker grey than in the bedroom. It was quite small, bordering on feeling cramped, with a toilet, sink, and bathtub with a separating glass wall taking up all of the space, leaving barely enough room to move around it (he'd have to watch his head with the sloping ceiling) and certainly none for any additional furniture, other than perhaps a mirror cabinet over the sink – but he wouldn't have to share it with anyone, and that would already be quite a luxury compared to his current living situation.

Returning to the bedroom and closing the door behind him, John decided he was definitely going to take it, should Rose find him agreeable. He only worried if there might still be some catch concerning the rent, because, all things considered, it really seemed very low compared to what he'd gathered from the few days of flat hunting he'd done…

"Everything to your liking then?" Rose inquired.

"Oh, absolutely!"

"Glad to hear that. Let's continue in the living room?"

Agreeing, he followed Rose out of the bedroom and back down the hallway into a room close to the entrance area. Several windows let a generous amount of daylight into the room, bouncing off the cream coloured walls and giving it a cheery atmosphere. The centre of the room was occupied by a wide couch, an armchair, and a glass coffee table facing a TV stand positioned on the wall opposite the door. A bookshelf and a large colourful painting decorated the other walls, and to the left the room opened up to a kitchen area, separated by a small, round dining table with three chairs around.

As he took in the kitchen, John caught sight of a male figure being partially hidden behind an opened fridge door.

"That's Jake, he lives downstairs," Rose shared, apparently having noticed his attention wandering. "Don't mind him while he's raiding the fridge."

The head belonging to the figure appeared briefly behind the fridge door, revealing the youthful face of a blond man who gave him a brief wave and "Hi", before disappearing behind the door again.

"Don't worry, he usually eats at his own place before popping in for a visit," she added cheekily.

"Well, _usually_ I don't get called away in the middle of work before I even had the chance for a break," Jake's voice retorted in an accusing tone.

"Can I offer you a drink?" Rose asked John, blatantly ignoring Jake's comment.

"I'm good, thanks," he declined.

"'K. Well, as you can see, this is the living room and kitchen. Both would be free for you to use, of course, but my bedroom is private and will be locked when I'm not around."

"Of course."

"Same goes for you, by the way, you'd be free to lock up your room as you please. And… that's pretty much it." Rose co cluded. "Feel free to take a seat," she added in offer, before plopping herself down on the couch.

Following her example, John took a seat next to her, watching Jake preparing himself a sandwich in the kitchen for a moment, before returning his attention to Rose.

"I hope you don't mind me asking, but, frankly speaking, the rental charge you advertised seems quite low for this neighbourhood…?"

He saw another smile creep up on Rose's face.

"I was wondering when you were going to ask about that."

"He hasn't yet?" Jake asked from the kitchen.

"Nope!" Rose called back.

"Polite bloke."

"Truth be told," Rose began, facing John again, "I don't pay what would be considered a usual rent myself; the property used to belong to Jake's grandparents, and he's inherited it a while ago. What I pay him is mostly just to cover the monthly costs for utilities, tax, and insurance, as he currently isn't interested in making money with the property. Seemed only fair not to ask for too much from a subtenant, either," she shrugged. "Still, can't hurt to save a bit on the rent, anyway, and it seemed a bit of a waste to leave the additional room unused."

"So Jake's basically the landlord? Here to check out the potential new tenant then?" John guessed with arched brows.

"Yep – that, and a good friend. He wanted to see who was going to live under his roof now with my friend gone, like a proper landlord would," she grinned with a hint of tongue peeking out between her teeth, the sight momentarily distracting John.

"Oi, you watch that cheek, or I'll give you some 'proper landlord' talk about the rubbish bins you like to forget taking out to the street for collection when it's your turn!" Jake commented as he made his way over to them with a plate in hand, making Rose roll her eyes, before taking a seat on the armchair.

John watched the friendly banter with a small smile, liking the relaxed atmosphere it created.  
As far as first impressions go, he found Rose to be very likeable and definitely wouldn't mind having her as a flat mate. Jake didn't seem to be too bad a neighbour (and landlord), either.

"Though, as my subtenant, I suppose technically I would be your direct landlady…" Rose mused after a moment. "But, basically, it's your usual flat sharing situation, really."

"So it's all according to the advert?" John checked again just in case, even if he was already starting to feel relieved of his previous concerns regarding some catch.

"Yeah. So, what do you say?"

Surprised that Rose seemed to be ready to accept him already, he quickly replied, "Oh, I'd love to have the room!"

"Great! And I assume the rental charge would be within your budget?"

"Absolutely!"

"Well, in that case I guess all that's left is to ask Mister Landlord for his approval?" Rose stated with a cheeky grin in Jake's direction.

Turning his head to face Jake, too, John saw the younger man shrug his shoulders while taking a bite out of his sandwich, not even bothering to react to Rose's teasing.

"Was that a yes?" Rose checked with amusement colouring her voice.

Jake gave a small nod, chewing on his meal, which was followed by Rose clapping her hands.

"All right then! I guess you're free to move in the following weekend, John. We can work out the payment details and everything then – that sound good to you?"

John blinked. "Almost too good to be true," he admitted with a brief grin. "Is that all you want to know, though?"

"What do you mean?" the blonde asked.

"Well, wouldn't you want some proof that I have the means to pay the rent? And seeing as you're going to share your home with me, isn't there anything else you'd like to know about me?"

When he saw Rose exchanging a long look with Jake at that, John frowned slightly, wondering what that was about.

"To be honest, I kind of recognised you from the news when we skyped…" Rose finally admitted after another moment. "You go by John Smith, right?"

John felt his face freeze into a blank mask, unsure how to take that information.

"Don't get me wrong, I am going to ask you to make monthly transfers on my bank account and check that the payment is there – I simply assumed you wouldn't look for a place to rent if you couldn't pay for it, especially since you have a job, correct?"

He nodded, his expression still neutral.

"I didn't want to be rude and step on your toes by unnecessarily mentioning your situation or asking anything personal… You seem like a decent enough bloke; polite in conversation with a neat appearance and a paying job, so, as far as I'm concerned, that's good enough for me."

Her last few words reassured him a little, though he was still working through some surprised wariness at the unexpected revelation. (Though he probably really shouldn't be all that surprised, since even some of his students had asked him about that news article after seeing his photo on it…)  
He slowly came to realise that her knowing about it might actually even work in his favour, as he wouldn't have to go through the awkward situation of explaining himself had it come up some time later.  
Maybe agreeing to that interview hadn't been a _complete_ mistake, after all. It might not have led to someone from his past truly recognising him so far and disappointed him with some insincere attention seekers, but it seemed to play a helpful part in this particular situation at least.

"So if you're still interested, the room would be up for you to take," Rose stated decisively.

Taking a deep breath to collect himself and push lingering doubts aside, John worked up a smile on his face. "In that case, I gladly accept."

"Deal."

Rose offered him a handshake on that, and as he took her warm hand into his, he found his smile growing more genuine at the sight of her own grin.

Maybe things really were starting to look up.

* * *

 _A/N: Phew, that chapter was kinda awkward to get over with for some reason... But at least it's done now~_

 _(And to anyone who might've noticed: yes, the cover image shows a snippet of the mentioned news article ;D The result of me feeling like fooling around in Photoshop a bit, heh. You can find a larger version of it on AO3, should anyone be interested.)_


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